


White Flag

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, F/M, Missing Year (Once Upon a Time), Pining, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Killian Jones swore that not a day would go by that he wouldn’t think of Emma Swan. Of course, his crew doesn’t have to know about that. Until a certain first mate figures it out and seems hell bent on helping his captain . . .





	White Flag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Winterbaby89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterbaby89/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, @winterbaby89! When we were chatting earlier today, I was so tempted to tell you I had a gift for you, but I wanted it to be a surprise! So here’s a brooding, pining pirate for your birthday 🙂 
> 
> Yes, this is based on the song by Dido. I know we’ve all heard it on countless crack fan vids, but when I really listened to the lyrics the other day, it just struck me how all the lyrics of this song fit Killian so well, especially during the year he was away from Emma. And how many ships can boast an ACTUAL ship? Right?

_I will go down with this ship, I won’t put my hands up_ _and_ _surrender. There will be no white flag above my door. I’m in love, and always will be._  

If there’s one thing Killian Jones learned after tossing his Lieutenant's coat into the sea, it’s that being a good pirate captain is ten percent action and ninety percent reputation. By the time he lost his hand to the Dark One, he was already known as a deadly swordsman who captained the fastest ship in all the realms. Once he became Captain Hook, the legend only grew. Pirate Captain Killian Jones had to fight to the last man while most everyone gladly surrendered to the fearsome and ruthless Captain Hook.  

Killian frowned as he looked down at the rings adorning his fingers. Of course, there was truth to the rumors as well. He’d done many a foul dead in his long centuries of life. But for every tale of bloodshed and villainy that was true, there were ten more that were gross exaggerations.  

The same held true when it came to women. He was no saint in that regard either, not even much a gentleman, but he didn’t bed every woman he came across. Despite his bravado, for example, he had never coerced an unwilling lass, and he certainly would never use violence to satisfy his libido. Yet the rumors said otherwise, of course. Sometimes, like Milah, the rumors protected the reputation of the dissatisfied housewives who found temporary escape in his bed. Or permanent escape, in Milah’s case. Yet the rumors also helped build up the aura of Captain Hook; the pirate who would run you through as his eyes glinted with two red spots, the man who would plunder your village and ravish your women. People would cower before a man with that sort of reputation. Made piracy so much easier. 

But he was a different man now, as much as he was loathe to admit it, and keeping up the ruse was becoming tiresome. He remembered what Ariel had called him – a hero – laughable, really. Even worse, Blackbeard had called him soft. Both those descriptors had fueled his decision that day: to sacrifice a man’s life to get his ship back. With the Jolly in his possession again, the tales of besting Blackbeard and feeding him to the sharks buzzing around every tavern, he felt that surely he could finally forget. Finally, he could slip back into his old ways.  

There was only one problem: he couldn’t forget  _her_. He saw her lovely lips turned down in a sad frown every time he had a dagger to a man’s throat. He saw her flashing jade eyes every time he lifted his hook over a trembling, pleading sailor.  _Emma wouldn’t want this._ And he would have mercy. He saw the confused expressions of his crew, heard the whispers that suddenly went silent when he entered a tavern. He knew other rumors were flying aside from his duel with Blackbeard. Captain Hook has gone soft.  

The most difficult reputation to maintain, however, was his reputation with the ladies. He knew his flirtation had become half-hearted at best, and surely word had gotten around about the willing lasses he had left unsatisfied. Then there was this constant charade with the wenches he kept paying; but not paying for their services, paying for their subterfuge.  _Tell people I gave you a good time._  

So here he was again, as he often found himself, alone in his quarters as his men passed their shore leave with rum and women. He hunched over his desk, his eyes squinting in the lamplight, as he replayed the way Emma Swan had smiled at him that final day.  _Good_  she had said.  

“Captain?”  

Killian startled and looked up to see Smee poking his head through the half-opened door. Instead of growling at the man, he suddenly found himself blushing as if caught in the act. His first mate shuffled hesitantly into the room.  

“I uh, didn’t mean to pry, but I ran into that wench on the docks? And um, she looked like she was hiding something, and I was worried, so . . . “ 

Killian’s embarrassment morphed into anger as he scowled at the man. “I don’t need a nursemaid, Mr. Smee. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of meself.” He bent once again to the paper and pencil in front of him. “You’re dismissed.” 

“If I may sir,” Smee continued, undeterred. Killian sighed wearily under his breath as the man shuffled closer to his desk. “The men and I have been a bit concerned. You seem . . . off. You only just left with that wench naught ten minutes ago, and -” 

Killian surged up from his desk, sending papers scattering to the floor. “I  _said_ you’re dismissed!” 

“Y-yes sir,” Smee said, bobbing his head nervously as he twisted his cap in his hands. He looked down at the papers scattering the floor, and he brightened. “Let me help you, Captain!” 

Killian attempted to lunge and stop him, but he couldn’t get around the desk in time. He clasped his first mate’s wrist just as his eyes took in the parchment in his hand.  

“This . . . is the Princess, Captain.” 

“Obviously. Now, leave me be.” He slumped down in his desk chair, rubbing his forehead.  

Smee laid the drawing of Emma reverently upon his desk. “I haven’t seen you draw a woman’s likeness since Milah, sir.” 

Killian looked up tentatively at the man’s soft words. Smee could be a bit of a buffoon at times, but in all honesty, he was the closest thing Killian had to a friend. The man was loyal to a fault, and he was probably the only one who had seen Killian’s mask slip at times. In every such instance, he had kept that information to himself.  

“What happened in Neverland between the two of you?” Smee asked after a moment’s silence.  

Killian’s jaw clenched. Closest thing he had to a friend, yes. Confidant about matters of the heart, however? Definitely not.  

“My relationship with Miss Swan is none of your business,” he bit out, gently sliding his drawing closer with the tip of his hook.  _Or lack thereof,_ he thought bitterly. 

Smee seemed unoffended as he gave a firm nod and placed his cap back upon his head. “Say no more, Captain. And don’t worry, I’ll keep the ladies of the night away from you, sir.” 

Killian rolled his eyes and waved Smee out. “Oh, and Smee?” 

“Y-yes Captain.” 

“Speak of this to no one.” 

“Course sir, wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Killian looked down at his drawing and frowned as he picked his pencil up once again. The eyes weren’t quite right . . .  

******************************************************** 

The days slipped by, and Killian was fairly certain Smee had forgotten their conversation. Until it dawned on him that he was left alone in the taverns more often than not to nurse his rum in peace. And were his crew giving him sympathetic looks? If that imbecile had been wagging his tongue . . .  

The man himself suddenly took the chair in front of him at the back of the tavern, an eager expression on his face. Oblivious to Killian’s angry glare, he gestured to the woman he had brought with him. Killian blinked as he took in the woman’s odd appearance. She lowered herself elegantly to the seat beside Smee, adjusting her luminous skirts of grey and white, made of ripped and tattered strips of satin. Her bodice seemed to be made of cobwebs, topped with a blood red corset. Her black lace gloves had holes in them, and her black hair hung in dirty dreadlocks. A tattoo, a constellation that he could have identified if he hadn’t felt uncomfortable staring, filled half her face. The most startling thing, however, were her eyes. They were milky white. Yet she gazed upon him fully, so he didn’t think she was blind.  

“Tanith here thinks she can help you, sir,” Smee told him, his smile eager.  

“You are a man of heart ache,” she said in a voice that grated like a hinge in need of grease. She reached out with fingernails like talons that tore through the tips of her gloves and caressed his hand. He jerked it back.  

“Going to a sorceress is a dangerous business,” Killian muttered, eyeing her shrewdly. “All magic comes with a price.” 

“Smart you are, my pretty pirate,” she replied with a smile, showing a mouth full of blackened teeth. Killian suppressed his revulsion lest he insult the powerful woman. “But the price for this is not steep to most.” 

She produced a wand of deep purple, decorated in swirling carvings painted red. He swallowed nervously, as if he could feel the magic pulsing from it.  

“It can undue a spell,” Smee put in, fidgeting in delight. 

Tanith gave Smee a sharp look for stealing her thunder, then turned a smile upon Killian that would have been seductive if not for her foul teeth. “It will reunite you with the woman you love.” 

Killian’s jaw clenched as he tried to push down the hope that swelled in his chest. His fingers itched to pick up the wand as Tanith set it on the table before him. “And the cost?” he managed to choke out. Unable to resist, he picked up the wand, his gaze mesmerized by the vermillion carvings.  

“The life of the one who cast the spell,” Tanith said flippantly. “Like I said, it is a trifle for most. What better revenge than to undue a spell and take the life of your enemy at the same time?” 

Killian’s eyes pressed closed as he released a sigh of disappointment. “She is not my enemy.” 

“The Evil Queen?” Smee scoffed. “She’s been your associate, but hardly a friend. Most people would call you a hero for getting rid of her.” 

Killian set the wand on the table again and slid it across to the sorceress. “She is the boy’s mother. I would never break Henry’s heart that way.” 

“The princess is really his mother, I hardly think -” 

Killian grabbed Smee by the front of his shirt and hauled him across the table. “I suggest you stop talking,  _mate_.” 

 He pushed the man back into his chair which wobbled on one leg, almost sending Smee sprawling to the floor. As he strode in anger from the tavern, the looks on the faces of his crew almost seemed relieved. They were used to his brooding so long as there was a helping of rage to go with it.  

****************************************************** 

Smee, in his typical fashion, took Killian’s threats to him in stride. He seemed no worse for his failed scheme with Tanith the sorceress, still asking his Captain what he needed with almost annoying regularity. Worse were the times he popped into the Captain’s quarters and inquired after Killian’s emotional health with a motherly tone. It was driving Killian batty. At least he had stopped commenting on the growing pile of sketches he’d made of Emma.  

One evening, after they had just set sail from yet another meaningless port, Smee bustled in unannounced with a satchel in his hands. Killian tossed aside his pencil in irritation.  

“A man needs his privacy, Mister Smee!” 

“Apologies, sir, but now that we’re out to smooth seas, I can finally show you what I found.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a crystal ball. “Where do you think this came from?” 

Killian arched a brow as he took the offered globe and hefted it in his palm. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“The Dark One’s castle! It’s been pillaged, and all sorts of magical objects can be found in every merchant’s wares.” 

“And you believe I would be excited about this because . . . “ 

“The merchant I bought it from told me that all you must do is think of someone you care about, and the crystal ball will show that person to you.”  

Killian chuckled sardonically. “Or it’s just a glass ball and you’ve been had.” 

“Try it, sir, think of the princess!” 

Killian rolled his eyes, but it was a temptation he couldn’t resist. Besides, thinking of Emma was his constant state, so why not give it a go? He gazed into the glass orb and concentrated his thoughts upon it. He gasped when gray clouds began to swirl within it, and Smee cried out. Then, through the clouds, there she was. She was walking down a street with her lad beside her. Her golden hair was free and blowing in the wind, just as he remembered it. She was laughing at something the boy said, and he was smiling up at her. They were happy, and it made him smile. They walked through a door and shed their coats as they sat at a small dining table. Emma picked up a menu with “Solo Pizza: New York, New York” emblazoned across it. Then the globe went dark.  

Killian blinked, his eyes suddenly wet, and he extended the crystal ball to Smee. “Take it,” he choked out.  

“But sir, it worked!” 

He gazed sadly at his first mate. “Which is exactly why you must get it far away from me.” 

“I don’t understand - “ 

“Throw it into the bloody sea!” he thundered.  

Smee recoiled, and Killian felt instant remorse. The man had gone to so much trouble to help his troubled heart, and how did he repay him?  

“I’m sorry, mate, I just . . . I don’t want to invade her privacy, you understand? And the temptation -” 

“I think she would trust you with it,” Smee replied gently as he put the clear globe back into his master’s palm. Then he turned and left.  

Killian clenched his hand so hard, he feared the glass would crack. The orb began to swirl again, and he hastily shoved it in the bottom drawer of his desk.  

**************************************************** 

He lasts only until the next port before succumbing to temptation. This time, he sees Emma open the door to a man in a suit with an unflattering haircut. He scowls in disgust, then stuffs the crystal ball into his satchel before he can find out if the man is Emma’s date or just a traveling merchant. That’s it, he’s selling this bloody thing.  

When he walks into the closest merchant’s shop and reveals his prize, the man behind the counter reaches for it with eagerness.  

“How much?” he asks.  

“Perhaps a trade?” 

Killian doesn’t really care, but he rubs at his jaw anyway, glancing around the shop. He’s been frugal lately with his doubloons, but perhaps the man has something they could use at sea.  _Or more drawing paper and pencils_  his traitorous mind offers, but he pushes that thought away. He had made a decision recently – no more sketches of Emma. It was too painful.  

“See what catches your eye,” the merchant tells him, “then we can settle on a deal. How’s that?” 

Killian nods and ambles about the room. He does look at a nice art set in a mahogany case, but shakes his head even as his fingertips skim across it. He’s just about to head to the back where the more practical items are displayed when he sees it. He isn’t sure why he’s drawn to it. Maybe because the tiny vial is made of jade the same shade as Emma’s eyes. He picks it up and holds it up to the light. Attached to the cork in its neck is a tiny scroll. 

“Now that would be an even trade,” the merchant speaks up, “one rare magical item for another.” 

“What is it?” 

“If you catch your tears inside, it will reunite you with a lost love. Living, of course.” 

Killian doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take it.” 

******************************************* 

It’s humiliating how easy it is for him to catch a few tears that night. He thought the pain would get easier, but now that about a year has passed, the anguish is only deeper. He really is separated from Emma forever. He can’t believe he’s reduced to this: believing the words of a random merchant without so much as a second thought. Nothing happens to the little jade bottle as the salty water drips inside. He puts the stopper in, then unrolls the miniscule scroll. The spell is short, and luckily in Greek. He doesn’t have to worry about getting the pronunciation wrong. Latin would have been another story. 

“Eímai erotevmenos kai tha einai panta” 

Suddenly, he’s no longer in his quarters on the Jolly Roger. There’s no burst of magic, no portal, not even a sudden wind. He’s simply just . . . somewhere else. It’s cooler here, is the first thing he notices, but then he looks down, blinks, and . . . it’s her. Sleeping peacefully in her bed, just inches away from him, is Emma Swan. All he can do at first is drink in the sight of her, so peaceful, as her breaths rise and fall, her hair fanned out on the pillow. His gaze flickers to the tiny shirt she wears to sleep, the one she called a tank top in Neverland. One strap has slipped down her shoulder, exposing a good portion of one of her breasts. He curses himself as he shifts his gaze elsewhere.  

It suddenly occurs to him how bad this is. If she awakens to see him there, he’ll scare her to death. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had a gun loaded in that nightstand beside her, and without her memories, she’ll most likely shoot first and ask questions later. He wouldn’t blame her. He wets his lips, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now. His eyes dart to the door, but what if he runs into the lad? 

He clenches his fist around the jade vial still in his hand, and that’s when he notices: he isn’t corporeal. He can almost see the vial through his fist. He pats his chest, he can feel himself, but the colors of his skin, his clothes, are all muted and hazy.  

And getting hazier. “Swan!” he cries out, unthinking. Her eyes blink open, and a furrow creases her brow.  

“Killian?” 

Abruptly, he’s back on the Jolly Roger, in his quarters.  

“Bloody hell.”  

**************************************************** 

It’s only about a week later, and Smee is chattering in his ear incessantly as he navigates the Jolly Roger to yet another port. His men haven’t questioned how antsy their Captain seems to be, never at sea for long stretches of time, hopping from port to port yet never satisfied. As long as they have enough doubloons to satisfy their bellies and their libido, they are a happy lot. 

“ . . . so I was thinking of this soothsayer that I met in Glowerhaven once, who has a cousin here in Misthaven. Not a soothsayer, mind you, but he dabbles, and -” 

“Mr. Smee, would you quit blabbering on and get to your post.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” he runs down to the lower deck, but doesn’t cease his rambling, “anyways, that vial of yours I’m sure is worth plenty to my friend’s cousin. He’s always got some interesting spell books, even does a bit of palm reading. Or is it tea leaves? Anyway, then there was also the skuttlebutt I heard about a pirate with magic beans -” 

“Smee!” Killian stomps down the steps from the upper deck, and the entire crew goes silent. “No more spells, no more false hope.” 

“B-but sir” Smee protests, yanking his cap off to twist it nervously. Killian hitches his thumbs in his belt loops and tilts his head back in irritation. As fidgety and fearful as the man is, he certainly has no qualms arguing with his Captain. “Did you hear what I said? Magic beans! Portals! Now, one sailor said it was Blackbeard who had them in the Southern Isles, but you and I both saw him walk the plank, so I thought -” 

“I don’t care what you bloody think!” Killian snapped, his temper rising. “You sell that damn vial for a pile of doubloons. That’s final!” 

Killian turns, his breaths coming hot and fast. He doesn’t even bother to shout orders, but his crew makes port easily anyway, leaving him to brood. Suddenly, right near his hand, a dove flutters down, cooing as if to get his attention. Killian tilts his head in surprise to see the tiny paper tied to its leg. He reaches out tentatively to take hold of the bird, and it doesn’t protest as he holds it to his chest with the crook of his left arm. With his right, he slips the paper – a note – free. Then he releases the bird, and it flies away. Scrawled hastily on the tiny parchment is written: 

“Curse coming! Get Emma!” 

He crumples the missive in his fist as he gazes out over the water, but there really is no decision to make.  

“Sir, are you coming ashore?” Smee asks, his voice more subdued after his dressing down. 

“No,” Killian says quietly, “but enjoy yourself, mate.” 

The men depart with eager cries and slaps to the back. He feels a bit guilty abandoning them once again to face another curse. But this time, it’s for a greater good. His Swan needs him.  

************************************************ 

Emma’s eyes blink open, and she frowns. She dreamed of him again, the man in black leather. Dressed lke a pirate? It’s ridiculous. The first time she had the dream, it felt as if he were really there, standing beside her bed. She had even called his name – Killian. But she doesn’t know anyone by that name, and she’s certainly never met a man who dresses like a pirate.  

A handsome man who dresses like a pirate.  

She shakes her head and laughs at herself as she heads out to the kitchen. She turns on some music, looking forward to a lazy, quiet Saturday with Henry. He steps out of his room soon after, bleary eyed, yet smiling. He waters the plants while Emma gets breakfast ready.  

They’re just sitting down to eat, when there’s a knock at the door . . .  

 

  

 


End file.
